Chapter 10: Victory Fuck
The echoes of Dante’s victory roar faded into the groaning abyss below the throne room’s edge. The charnel stench of the battlefield – ozone, sulfur, scorched earth, and the sickly-sweet tang of vaporized angels – clung thickly to him, a brutal perfume. Ichor, thick and black as tar, wept from the deep gashes Ezekiel’s blade had left in his flank and bicep, mingling with streaks of dried celestial gore smeared across his ash-grey hide. He stood, nine feet of primal demonic fury carved from nightmare, at the precipice where the obsidian floor fractured into endless, lightless depths. His massive, clawed hands hung loose at his sides, still dripping. The four great horns swept back from his skull like a crown of obsidian blades. He didn’t look back at the throne room, where the horde celebrated amidst the gore. He simply stepped off the edge and vanished into the abyss.
Silence swallowed him. The faint, eternal screams from far below were a distant counterpoint to the crushing weight of his solitude. He descended slowly, wings folded tight, the air growing colder, denser, carrying whispers of forgotten torments. This deep, even the triumphant fury felt hollow, replaced by the gnawing ache of wounds both physical and the ancient lacerations Ezekiel had so viciously reopened. Seraphine’s terrified cry. Zephaniel’s desperate leap. Azazel’s broken screams. They echoed in the void.
Then, a shift in the oppressive air. A faint, familiar scent cutting through the sulfur and decay: ozone, smoke, and beneath it, the sharp tang of human adrenaline. Dabi.
Dante’s massive head turned slowly, molten gold eyes piercing the gloom. He saw the figure silhouetted against the faint, bloody luminescence filtering from above. Dabi stood on the last jagged outcrop of obsidian floor before the true drop, his gothic attire stark against the Hell-light, his posture tense, defiant. He’d followed. Into the abyss. After this.
A low, rumbling growl vibrated deep in Dante’s chest, a sound like shifting tectonic plates. It resonated through the darkness, a palpable warning. "I told you," Dante’s voice was a guttural rasp, alien and immense in the enclosed dark, "not to sneak around me. Not like this." Each word was a physical pressure.
Dabi didn’t flinch. His blue eyes, startlingly bright in the gloom, met Dante’s burning gaze head-on. A smirk played on his scarred lips. "Didn’t sneak," he retorted, his voice tight but steady. "Walked right the fuck down. You’re trailing goddamn angel guts. Easy to follow." He took another deliberate step forward, onto the very lip of the abyss, staring not at the drop, but at the monstrous form before him. "Like what I see, Devil."
Rage, raw and primal, surged through Dante, mingling with the pain and the dark, possessive heat Dabi always ignited. He moved with terrifying speed, a blur of ash-grey hide and dark energy. One massive hand shot out, claws retracted but the sheer force undeniable. It slammed into Dabi’s chest, knocking the breath from his lungs in a startled gasp, and hurled him backwards. Not into the void, but onto the cold, unforgiving surface of the obsidian throne that dominated the chamber above the abyss.
Dabi hit the bone-and-metal construct hard, the impact jarring his spine. Before he could even register the pain, Dante was upon him. The demon’s immense form crowded him, pinning him flat against the throne’s jagged contours. One huge hand clamped over Dabi’s sternum, holding him immobile, the pressure immense but not bone-breaking. Dante’s other hand slammed down beside Dabi’s head, claws scraping furrows in the dark stone. Hot, sulfurous breath washed over Dabi’s face as Dante leaned in, his horned head blocking out the dim light, his molten eyes blazing inches away.
"Stupid little mortal," Dante snarled, his voice thick with barely leashed violence. The scent of celestial blood and demonic ichor was overwhelming this close, mixed with the pure, terrifying power radiating from Dante’s form. "You saw what I did. What I am. And you still follow? You still taunt?"
Dabi stared up into the face of pure nightmare. The ash-grey hide, the horns, the fangs bared inches from his throat, the wounds weeping dark fluid that dripped onto his own shirt. Fear was a cold spike in his gut, sharp and undeniable. But beneath it, coiling hotter and tighter, was something else. Something reckless, desperate, and unbearably aroused. The sight of Dante, monstrous and victorious, drenched in the blood of angels, had ignited a primal hunger in Dabi that overrode every shred of self-preservation. He felt it pooling hot between his legs, the fabric of his pants already damp, his cock hard and aching against the restrictive material.
He didn’t try to struggle against the hand pinning him. Instead, he arched his back, pressing his hips up deliberately, grinding the hard line of his erection against Dante’s thick thigh. A low moan escaped him, raw and wanton. His blue eyes, wide with a mix of terror and absolute lust, locked onto Dante’s burning gold.
"Fuck your warnings," Dabi gasped, his voice ragged. His hand shot up, not to push away, but to grab Dante’s massive wrist where it pinned his chest. His fingers dug into the tough hide, smearing himself with ichor and blood. "Look at you... covered in it... fucking magnificent monster." He arched again, harder, a silent, pleading demand. "Stop talking. Fucking wreck me, Devil."
The words, filthy and defiant, shattered Dante’s fragile control.
A sound ripped from Dante’s throat – not a growl, but a feral snarl of pure, unadulterated possession. The hand on Dabi’s chest moved with brutal efficiency. Claws, sharp as obsidian shards but carefully sheathed in thick hide, tore through Dabi’s clothes like parchment. Fabric shredded, buttons flew, revealing the pale, scarred expanse of Dabi’s torso, already flushed with arousal. Dante didn’t pause. His massive hand clamped onto Dabi’s hip, hauling him roughly to the very edge of the bone throne, his ass hanging precariously over the abyss. The other hand ripped Dabi’s pants and underwear down to his thighs in one savage jerk.
Dabi cried out, not in pain, but in shock and desperate need as the cold obsidian met his exposed skin. He was completely exposed, spread out on the throne of Hell like an offering. And he was drenched. The evidence of his arousal glistened obscenely on his inner thighs, slicking the cleft of his ass. He was open, eager, his hole visibly clenching around nothing, already softened and desperate for penetration. The scent of him, musky and raw, cut through the blood and sulfur, driving Dante wild.
Dante didn’t need preparation. Dabi’s body was screaming readiness. With a guttural command that vibrated through the throne, Dante used his knee to brutally shove Dabi’s legs wider apart, spreading him obscenely. He didn’t bother with his own clothes; a thought dissolved the restraints on his monstrous form. His cock sprang free, enormous, thick, and intimidating. It wasn't human. It was a pillar of thick, veined demonflesh, flushed a deep, angry red, the broad, flared head slick with pre-come, glistening under the hell-light. The sheer size was daunting, the heat radiating from it palpable.
He positioned the swollen head against Dabi’s slick entrance, grinding it roughly, smearing the thick pre-come mixed with traces of celestial blood still on Dante’s hide across Dabi’s trembling hole. The friction drew a choked sob from Dabi, his back arching sharply off the cold throne.
"Yesss... fuck, yes..." Dabi hissed, his knuckles white where they gripped the edges of the bone throne. "Do it! Fucking ruin me!"
Dante drove forward. No slow stretch, no gentle breach. Pure, brutal possession.
The thick ridge of his cockhead caught brutally, stretching the tight ring of muscle wide in an instant. Dabi screamed, a raw, ragged sound ripped from his throat, his body instinctively trying to recoil from the overwhelming invasion. Dante’s grip on his hip was iron, holding him mercilessly impaled as the massive head popped past the resisting muscle and buried itself deep inside in one relentless thrust.
"Mine," Dante snarled, the word a growl of finality as he sheathed himself to the hilt in one devastating motion.
Dabi convulsed, his vision whiting out for a second from the sheer, shocking stretch, the burn bordering on agony but already tipping wildly into mind-numbing pleasure. He was impossibly full, split open on Dante’s monstrous cock, the thick shaft pistoning deeper than he’d thought possible, rubbing against places that ignited sparks behind his eyes. "FUCK! Oh GOD! Dante!" he babbled, tears springing to his eyes, his body clamping down viscerally around the brutal intrusion, trying to accommodate the impossible girth.
Dante didn’t pause. He withdrew almost completely, the flared head catching exquisitely on Dabi’s rim, then slammed back in with piston-like force. The obsidian throne groaned beneath them. Each thrust was a claiming, deep and unforgiving, the slap of flesh against flesh echoing in the cavernous space, punctuated by Dabi’s ragged cries and choked pleas. Dante’s claws dug into Dabi’s hips, sure to leave deep, possessive bruises, holding him in place to take every punishing inch. The heat inside Dabi was unbearable, the friction brutal and perfect. Pre-come and slick leaked copiously around the point of joining, mingling with the streaks of ichor still smeared on Dante’s thighs, creating a filthy, glistening mess.
"Look at you," Dante growled, his voice thick with dark satisfaction, watching Dabi’s cock jump and leak against his own stomach with every deep, jarring thrust. "Taking it... taking all of me... like a desperate whore on my throne." He leaned down, his fangs grazing Dabi’s throat, a silent threat and promise. "Is this what you wanted, little firefly? To be fucked raw by a monster?"
"YES!" Dabi screamed, the word breaking on a sob as Dante angled his hips, driving up ruthlessly, grinding that thick cockhead against the bundle of nerves deep inside him. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and shattering, tearing another broken cry from his lips. "Fucking... wrecked... Devil... yours... all fucking yours...!" His hand scrambled down, fumbling for his own cock, jerking it frantically in time with Dante’s brutal rhythm, his release building like a supernova under the relentless assault. He was a mess of sweat, tears, blood, ichor, and slick, pinned and ravaged on the throne of Hell by its monstrous prince, and he had never felt more claimed, more alive, more utterly destroyed.
Dante’s pace became frantic, his massive form a relentless machine, pistoning into Dabi’s pliant body with deep, grunting thrusts that shook the throne. He felt Dabi’s inner muscles clench and flutter wildly around his cock, the tight heat milking him towards his own peak. The sight of Dabi – wrecked, sobbing, jerking himself off while being ruthlessly fucked – was the final trigger. With a roar that echoed Azazel’s torment, Dante buried himself to the root one final time. His release surged, scalding and thick, pumping deep into Dabi’s clenching channel in powerful, pulsing jets.
The sensation of being filled, impossibly filled, with that hot seed triggered Dabi’s own undoing. His back arched impossibly off the throne, a silent scream tearing through him as his cock erupted, stripes of come painting his stomach and chest, mingling with the blood and ichor. His vision tunneled, the world narrowing to the brutal fullness inside him and the crushing weight of the demon pinning him down, claiming him utterly.
Dante remained buried deep, his heavy breaths gusting hot against Dabi’s sweat-slicked neck, his massive chest heaving. He kept Dabi pinned, his cock still pulsing weakly inside the tight, spasming heat, the demonic form radiating an almost feral possessiveness. The throne room, the abyss, the lingering stench of battle – it all faded. There was only the brutal connection, the shared wreckage, the raw, silent understanding vibrating between the monstrous Devil and his broken, claimed mortal. Dabi’s hand, trembling, smeared through the mess on his stomach – come, ichor, blood – before his fingers weakly tangled in Dante’s coarse, ash-grey chest fur. His voice, when it came, was a shattered whisper, raw and utterly spent against the demon’s hide.
"Yours."